


An Unforeseen Consequence

by luminality



Series: The Oblivious Misadventures of Lt. Jean Vicquemare [2]
Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Clean-shaven!Jean, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Poor Kim, Possessive!Trant, aka oh no jean is hot, confused!Harry, oblivious!Jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26509213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminality/pseuds/luminality
Summary: Jean loses a bet to Harry. Everyone else in the precinct wins.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi (if you squint so hard that your eyes are almost closed), Jean Vicquemare/Kim Kitsuragi (squint even harder), Trant Heidelstam/Jean Vicquemare (pre-slash)
Series: The Oblivious Misadventures of Lt. Jean Vicquemare [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950841
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	An Unforeseen Consequence

Kim Kitsuragi can’t believe what he just heard.

“Say that again?”

“Jean and I had a bet about whether we’ll be able to solve the BROWN-EYED HUSTLER before the end of this week,” Harry says, grinning like a little kid. “He lost. Obviously. So he’s coming to work today with his beard shaved off.”

Kim considers this for a moment.

“And you want me to stand by the door,” he says slowly, “and take a picture of him.”

“That’s right!” Sensing Kim’s hesitation, Harry clasps his hands to his chest and impersonates a kicked puppy. “Come on, Kim! This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance! We _have_ to get that photo, or else—”

Kim raises an eyebrow. “Or else...?”

Harry flounders for a bit. “Or else...” His eyes light up. “Or else he’ll never learn his lesson! He should’ve known better than to bet against us,” He drapes an arm over Kim’s shoulder and starts guiding him towards the entrance to the C-Wing, “We're the best crime-fighting duo in the whole precinct! No, the whole RCM! He’s lucky that I didn’t ask him to do anything worse than shave, but a nefarious villain might take advantage of his penchant for gambling and—”

“Alright, alright. I get it.” Sighing, Kim takes out his Trigat Sunshine Mini from his jacket. “But I’m only taking _one_ photo. No more.”

Harry beams at him so brightly that Kim has to look down and pretend to fiddle with his camera to avoid getting blinded by that smile.

* * *

Meanwhile, behind the reception desk of the old silk mill, Mrs. Gloria Beauchamp-née-Peroit (“Call me Glo.”) taps a pencil on her thickly rouged cheek. She’s halfway through solving the daily crossword puzzle on the _Jamrock Times_ , but she cannot, for the life of her, think of an eight-letter word that meant “Dashing, handsome”...

Someone clears their throat in front of the desk.

She quickly plasters an accommodating smile on her face. “Yes, how may I help—”

She stops. And stares.

“Morning, Glo. Got anything for me today?”

Five seconds go by. Glo continues to smile and stare.

“Uh.” The person waves a hand in front of her eyes. “Elysium to Glo? You alright?”

She blinks.

“Erm. Yes. I’m. Fine. Er.” She rummages around her desk and victoriously emerges with a thin white envelope. “Ah, here it is. A letter arrived for you from Precinct 30 yesterday afternoon. Er.”

Her interlocutor takes the envelope from her and huffs. “Fucking finally. Took them forever to get back to me.” He tucks the envelope into his jacket. “Thanks, Glo. You’re a darling.”

Glo’s face immediately lives up to her nickname. “Oh,” She giggles and waves him off like a flustered schoolgirl. “You’re always welcome, Vic. And may I say, you look quite--” She glances down at her crossword puzzle, “— _dashing_ today.”

Lieutenant Jean Vicquemare winces. “I dunno,” he says, scratching his bare chin. “Makes me look like a damn kid, if you ask me. Oh, and the word’s ‘Debonair.’”

Glo blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Debonair.” Jean leans over and taps her crossword puzzle. “Ten-across.”

Then, before she can thank him, he winks at her and strides away to the elevators.

As Glo’s brain fries in its own juices, Lily Turner, one of the new receptionists, leans towards her and whispers, “Hey, Glo. What’s that hottie’s name again?”

With the matronly care of a woman who’s grown to view every officer in Precinct 41 as her child, Glo gently twists Lily’s head so that she's facing the desk again. “None of your business, Ms. Turner.”

 _Kids these days_ , she thinks to herself as she happily returns to her crossword.

* * *

“Hey, I think he’s coming!” Harry whispers from the door. “Ready, Kim?”

Kim nods, his finger poised on the shutter button. He’s still not comfortable with this whole plan, but it’s only one picture anyway...

Harry scurries back from the door and—to Kim’s dismay—parks himself right behind Kim. “Here he comes!”

The door swings open—

FLASH!

Jean splutters. “What the fuck---???!!!”

Then, before Kim could apologize, Harry grabs the back of his jacket and speeds off like a convicted criminal running away from his parole officer.

“Kim, run!!!!!”

So Kim runs—He’s not sure why he’s running, but a big part of that might be the fact that Harry’s still dragging him by the neck of his jacket.

As the two of them make their escape, Jean blinks away the flashing lights from his eyes and wonders what the hell just happened.

“Goddammit shitkid," he growls, "I’m gonna fucking _murder_ you for this—!!!!!”

He cuts off when he hears the door opening behind him.

“Oh, good morning, Vic!”

Jean raises his eyes to heaven.

Today, he decides, is the absolute worst fucking day of his life.

He braces himself before turning around.

“Hey, Trant.”

The smile on Special Consultant Trant Heidelstam’s face freezes in place.

His eyes dart down to Jean’s cheeks. His chin. His mouth...

Flustered, Jean clears his throat. “I, uh. Lost a bet to the shitkid.” He rubs his chin. “So I had to shave it all off.”

Trant snaps out of it.

“Ah. I see,” he says, voice strangely hoarse. “Excuse me.” He coughs. “I. Was just. Taken aback. For a moment.”

Jean sighs. “Yeah. I know, I look like shit—”

“What? No!” The special consultant steps into his personal space and gently grips his arm. “You look fine, Jean.” His eyes skate over Jean’s face again. “Really fine, actually,” he murmurs, gaze landing on Jean’s lips once more.

Suddenly, Jean becomes hyper-aware of how close they are...

“Uh.” He gulps. “Thanks. I guess.”

Trant stares at him for a moment longer.

Then, he shakes his head quickly and releases Jean’s arm.

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me today,” he chuckles. His face turns inquisitive. “Has anyone else seen you, by any chance?”

Jean frowns. “What do you mean? _Everyone’s_ seen me. I didn’t exactly sneak up here, you know.”

“Oh. It’s nothing. I was just...” Trant glances back at the door. “Say, would you mind joining me for a cup of coffee at the cafeteria? There’s something about that double-homicide case that I want to discuss with you."

“Don’t see why we can’t just talk about it here,” Jean jerks his thumb at his office. “We can make some coffee at the break room—”

“No!” Trant coughs. “I mean, no. I heard that the caf’s offering some excellent key-lime pie with their coffee today, so I figured we could just meet there.”

His smile remains firmly in place, but his eyes shimmer with a silent plea...

Jean sighs. 

“Okay. Come on, let’s get some fucking pie.”

Trant’s smile intensifies to solar levels.

“Excellent!” He bounds over to the door and opens it for Jean. “After you,” he says, gesturing gallantly towards the dingy corridor outside.

Rolling his eyes at the blonde’s antics, Jean strides out of the door. He doesn’t hear the sigh of relief that escapes from Trant’s lips. 

“You’ll be the death of me, Vic,” Trant murmurs before closing the door behind them.

* * *

“Did you get it?”

Kim holds up a hand, still bent over double, trying to catch his breath.

“Oh.” Harry scratches his head. “Sorry.”

After wheezing for a few more seconds, Kim straightens up and glares at his partner. “Congratulations, Detective,” he says drily. “Lt. Vicquemare’s going to murder us both when he sees us again.”

“No, he won’t!” Then, Harry seems to reconsider. “Well. He won’t murder _you_ , at least. Anyway,” he says, shoving aside any thoughts about his impending doom, “did you get the photo?”

Kim nods, taking out the slip of white paper from his jacket. “Here. I’m pretty sure I got most of his face...”

They look at the photo together.

“Hm.” Harry strokes his chin. “Didn’t remember his jawline being that well-defined.”

Kim stays silent.

“And look,” Harry jabs a finger at the photo, “he has a chin-dimple! We’d never have known if it weren’t for me!” he says proudly.

Kim clears his throat.

“Yes.” He tucks the photo back into his jacket pocket. “Well done, Harry.”

His partner frowns at him. “Hey, Kim. Your ears—”

Kim’s eyebrow starts to ascend.

“—are fine. Yeah.” Harry gulps. “Totally normal.”

“Indeed.” Satisfied, Kim glances at his watch. “Well, time to go on our patrol, Detective.”

They head down to the garage, Kim taking the lead while Harry saunters behind him.

“Hey, Kim.”

“Yes?”

“Maybe _I_ should shave—”

“No. You _really_ shouldn’t.”

* * *

The rest of the day proceeds normally, all things considered. Detectives detected, patrol officers patrolled, receptionists received, and so on and so forth.

There _was_ a small disruption in the cafeteria, which fell into an awed silence when Lt. Jean Vicquemare—with his chiselled jawline and baby-smooth cheeks—marched in with Special Consultant Trant Heidelstam following closely behind him. Everyone continued to stare as Jean went up to the red-faced cashier and ordered two slices of key-lime pie and two cups of coffee.

Then, while Jean was still ordering, Trant casually placed his hand on the small of the lieutenant’s back and shot a proprietary smile over his shoulder at everyone and no one in particular.

Everyone looked away and pretended to be Very Interested in their food.

Kim ends up keeping the photo. 

**Author's Note:**

> I go through a sweet-salty (i.e. angst-fluff) cycle whenever I write, so after the angst of Blackjack Boogie, this nonsense emerged fully-formed within the tarry depths of my imagination. 
> 
> Coincidentally, I really, really missed writing as best-boi Jean, so this scratches that itch too. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! :D
> 
> P.S. The headcanon of Jean being a gambler comes from my fellow TraJean shipper, [Darelz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darelz/pseuds/Darelz).


End file.
